Epilogue 30

Kyle Stanford sat behind the wheel of his new car, waiting impatiently for the traffic lights to change. That was the problem with London, too many fucking traffic lights, and too many fucking rules for that matter. His car had been clamped and he'd needed to fork out £50 to release it. The bastards!

He stared with growing frustration at the empty road ahead of him, while he waited at the pointless red lights. In the distance an old woman crossed the road but he did not notice, nor would he have cared particularly.

Suddenly the car leapt forward, roaring, as if the accelerator was flattened by some unseen force. Kyle was thrown back in to his seat. Cursing with alarm he reached forward and grabbed hold of the steering well and slammed on the breaks. The car was filled with plumes of acrid smoke until he could see nothing, but continued to accelerate, pausing only briefly with a loud, soft crunch as it hit the old woman. Kyle screamed and continued to pump the breaks furiously but to no avail. The car hurtled inevitably towards the canal, eventually crashing through the barrier into the murky waters. In vain he struggled to open the doors but they wouldn't budge. The water slowly filled the car causing him to beat against the window in blind panic. Finally the air ran out and leaving him scrabbling desperately at the closed windows, trying to escape.

Outside a pale young white face looked on sadly, then reached forward through the glass to grab hold of him.